"Then you know that you can't change my mind. I am going to do this, without your help."
She nodded, slowly. He rose and kissed her cheek.
"I am leaving in the morning," he said. "Good-bye, Mother."
A tear coursed down her face. It gave him pause. He could not recall the last time he had seen her cry.
"You've been a wonderful son," she said. "I've had many sons, but I've loved you the most, Kyle. Please, remember that, always."
He took her hand in his and squeezed it. "You talk as if I'm going to my death. I'll come to visit on occasion. You'll see me again."
Mother did not reply immediately, and as he walked out of the chamber, he heard her words, which she spoke in a whisper.
`No. I never will. "
After an hour and a half in the air, the airplane touched down in Amsterdam. Kyle was grateful for the opportunity to stretch his legs. He sipped another packet of blood before getting on the next aircraft, which carried him on a tedious, ten-hour voyage to Memphis, Tennessee.
It was late evening when he finally met Mamuwalde-or "Mamu," his preferred nickname-his personal agent, at the terminal gate.
"How was the flight, sir?" Mamu asked in French. He took Kyle's bag and carried it over his broad shoulder.
Kyle responded in English, a subtle signal that they would not speak French here.
"Absolutely awful. I'll never fly commercially again. We will charter a private jet when we depart. We can discuss the details later."
It was Friday, August 23rd. The terminal was only sparely populated. They did not need to wait at baggage claim. Kyle had sent all his necessary clothes and items in advance. They walked out of the airport.
"It's humid here," Kyle said. He felt as though he had wandered into a suffocating cloud of heat. He had read about the summer climate in the American South, but experiencing it firsthand was a different matter altogether. He slid off his gloves, unbuttoned his jacket.
"It is warm, indeed," Mamu said. He was attired in navyblue slacks, a tailored white shirt, a somber Italian tie, and polished black wingtips. Mamu dressed for his work as an agent with the same attention to detail as an executive laboring in a corporation. Kyle believed Mamu would've been wearing his suit jacket if not for the stifling humidity.
Mamu led the way to the parking lot. He was a stout man, in his thirties, bald-headed and clean-shaven. Born in Paris, of African lineage, he was a member of a family that had been quietly serving as agents to vampires for generations. Mamu and his sister had been in the employ of Kyle and his mother since they were teenagers; before them, his parents had served the family.
The relationship between a vampire and his agent was one of the most important relationships a vampire could establish. An agent could handle matters during daylight hours: business transactions, errands, and the endless, miscellaneous details of daily living. Traditionally, an agent was assigned to a single vampire for much of the agent's life, from adolescence through late middle age.
For their devotion to the care of vampires, agents were rewarded with comfortable, prosperous lives, and, more compelling, the opportunity to learn ancient secrets to which few humans throughout history have ever been privy.
On rare occasion, a vampire decided to take an agent as a companion-and made them a vampire. But the practice was frowned upon because it disrupted the balance between vampires and the available pool of agents. If all vampires took their agents as companions, they would have to acquire new agents, and it required years to select and train a capable agent. Agents volunteered for the role with the understanding that they would never become vampires.
Kyle trusted Mamu implicitly, in a way he would never dare to trust another human. He had told Mamu of his plan to find his father before he had told Mother about his mission. Mamu enthusiastically supported him, though it did not matter whether he agreed with Kyle's wishes or not. An agent was sworn to obey a vampire's commands. Still, Kyle was relieved to have Mamu's earnest assistance. He regarded the man as a friend, not an obsequious servant.
In the parking lot, Mamu headed toward a silver Lexus sport utility vehicle.
"Excellent taste," Kyle said. "Of course, I would expect nothing less from you, my friend."
Mamu smiled. He placed Kyle's bag in the vehicle's cargo area.
They settled inside the cabin.
"How far are we from the town?" Kyle said.
"Approximately forty minutes," Mamu said in his precise English.
Although, after being conscious throughout the day Kyle needed to sleep, he was too excited to doze. He was going to find his father. Butterflies fluttered in his stomach.
"What do you think of the town?" Kyle said. "Mason's Corner?"
Mamu shrugged, his dark eyes scanning the highway. "It is not much of a town. Small, rural, working class. We would be wise to maintain a low profile. The residents appear to pay undue attention to strangers"
"I see. Any incidents?"
"When I was in the hardware store acquiring supplies, the clerk, an elderly man, asked me where I lived, and I indicated the estate that we are renting. He regarded me as if I were insane. `The Mason place?' he said. `It's haunted, man, don't you know that?' "
"Haunted? What do you think of that?" Kyle watched his friend closely.
Mamu's fingers tightened on the steering wheel. Mamu, though he had lived around vampires for his entire life, was deeply superstitious and frightened of the world of the unseen.
Monsieur, you know me well. I am not one who is easily disturbed. Yet I have found it difficult to sleep in the house."
"Because you believe it to be haunted?"
"I do not know. It is beyond my ability to investigate. Perhaps you will be able to discover why."
"I'll check it out when we arrive," Kyle said. He did not doubt that the mansion was haunted; he had seen tormented, restless spirits before. They did not particularly interest him or trouble him. What harm could a ghost cause to an immortal being?
But Mamu was only a man. Kyle patted his friend's shoulder.
"Do not fear, my friend. Besides, the residents' belief that the house is haunted could benefit us. The people will leave us alone and allow us to perform our work undisturbed."
"That is an excellent point, monsieur. I had not considered it."
Kyle smiled. "Can we have some traveling music?"
Mamu found a contemporary jazz radio station on the stereo. The lulling voice of a saxophone hummed from the speakers.
Kyle reclined in the seat and looked out the glass, watching the wooded countryside race past. A fat, pale moon cast milky light on the land. Kyle sensed the creatures of the night roving through the thick forests: predator and prey, engaged in their ageless game.
Father, I am coming to free you, Kyle thought. When he re garded the deep night, it was easy to believe that his father would receive his telepathic message. Your son has arrived, and I will save you ... from yourself, if I must.
The Lexus shot like a silver bullet through the darkness.
Chapter 3
he next day, Saturday, began as a busy one for David.
I In the morning, he dropped off the trailer at the U-Haul center in Hernando, fifteen minutes north of Mason's Corner. Upon returning home, he finished unpacking.
He spent a couple of hours opening boxes, sorting through items, and placing them in rooms throughout the house. King awoke from a nap and trailed him, whining. David ignored the hound for a while, then finally relented.
"Okay, I know you're bored," David said to the dog. "How about we go to the park?"
King barked his approval.
The town park was located off Main Street. It was eleven o'clock. The sun rays sizzled mercilessly, and the humidity was cotton-thick. He was thankful that he had brought a cold bottle of water with him.
He clipped the leash to King's collar, and they walked across the grass at a brisk pace. Magnolia trees bloomed, waxy and lush, their flowers emitting a sweet aroma. In the distance, a small
lake gleamed in the sunlight, and a red sign warned "No Swimming."
David didn't see anyone there-most natives probably stayed inside at that hour to avoid the heat but then a black Labrador darted around a maple tree ahead. David was so startled that he let go of the leash. King, thrilled to see another canine, took off after the Labrador, barking.
"King, come back here!" David chased after the dogs.
Moments later, he found the hounds playing in the grass, near a young black woman who lounged in the shade of an oak tree. Sitting Indian-style on a blanket, she didn't seem troubled by the dogs. She watched them, giggling, as if viewing a funny cartoon.
David approached, panting. He was in good shape, but the humidity sapped his strength.
The woman turned and smiled at him. He suddenly found it even harder to breathe. She had the most beautiful smile he had ever seen, with dimples so deep his fingers could disappear in them.
"Come enjoy the show," she said, and indicated the dogs. King was striving mightily to sniff the Labrador's rear end, and the Labrador nimbly eluded him. "Is he yours?"
It took David a second to realize that she had spoken to him. In addition to her smile, she possessed sparkling, honey-brown eyes. He easily could have looked at them for hours.
What's wrong with me? he thought. I never act like this when meeting a woman.
"Uh, yeah, he's mine," David said. "King, uh ... hasn't had any female company in a while. I didn't mean to let him escape the leash. Your dog startled me"
She favored him with another dazzling smile. "Sorry about that. I usually let Princess run loose when I'm here. She doesn't bite."
"So she's named Princess? That's kinda funny. King, meet Princess." He thought he sounded corny, but no other witty comments came to mind.
Smiling again, the woman unwound from her cross legged sitting position and stretched her legs in front of her. He tried to avoid staring at her, but it was impossible. She was lovely. Dressed in denim shorts and a yellow tank top, she had mahogany skin and a toned, shapely figure-a physique like an aerobics instructor or a track runner. Her dark brown hair was tied into a ponytail that dangled to the middle of her back.
Best of all, she didn't wear a wedding band on her ring finger. Thank you, God.
There was a moment of silence, in which he realized, with some surprise, that she was checking him out as openly as he was admiring her.
"Our dogs have introduced themselves," she said, and he caught her soft Mississippi accent. "How about we introduce ourselves to each other?"
He knelt on the grass and extended his hand. "I'm David Hunter."
"Nice meeting you, David. I'm Nia James"
He thought he felt electricity when their hands touched, but maybe that was wishful thinking on his part. However, their handshake did last a second or two longer than was customary.
"I haven't seen you in town before," she said. "I would've remembered seeing you"
Heat flushed his face. She was flirting with him, shamelessly. He felt as shocked as the class nerd who learned that the school's most popular cheerleader had a crush on him.
"I only moved here yesterday," he said. "I live on Hunter Drive, and in the Hunter house, actually."
She blinked. "You're related to Richard Hunter?"
"He was my father."
"Oh, my God" She put her hands to her mouth, blushing. She grabbed the hardcover book beside her and showed him the front cover. It was one of his father's controversial, bestselling novels, entitled Coloreds Only.
"I've read all his books, many of them twice," she said. "He was brilliant, an amazing writer." She put her hand on her chest and appeared to regain her bearings. "I'm so sorry about what happened to him. That was a terrible accident."
He nodded somberly. "Did you know my father?"
"Not really. I saw him around town all the time, of course, but I only spoke to him once or twice. He signed my book." She cracked open the cover. He read the inscription on the fly page, "To Nia, the prettiest girl in town, who has great taste in literature." It seemed a typical comment for his father to make. His dad had been a notorious ladies' man, though Nia was surely no older than twenty-six or twentyseven, young enough to be his daughter.
"You favor him, you know," she said. "I've seen photos of Mr. Hunter when he was in his twenties. You could be his twin."
"So I've heard. To be honest, I didn't know my father well. He was pretty much a stranger to me" He was rarely so open with a new acquaintance, but something made it easy for him to trust this woman. She radiated a comforting aura.
"I'm sorry. I know how that feels, sort of. My father died when I was a little girl. I only have these vague memories of what he was like."
"How long have you lived here?" he said.
She laughed. "I'm a homegirl, David. I've been here all my life, mostly. I grew up here, went away for college at Jackson State, then moved to Houston for a few years ... but that didn't work out-long story, there" She shrugged. "I've been staying with my mom for the past year that I've been back"
"Do you plan to stay here for a while?"
"Maybe another year or two. Mason's Corner is a nice, quiet town, but I think it's obvious that there isn't much to do here, socially or otherwise. I've been thinking of moving to Atlanta."
"Really? I'm from Atlanta."
"And you gave up the ATL to live here?" She reached for ward and placed her warm palm against his forehead. "Are you sick?" She laughed.
He chuckled. "It's a long story. Maybe I'll tell you later. How about ... over lunch?"
"I'd like that," she said, and wriggled her toes in the grass. Her bare feet were smooth, with crimson, pedicured toenails. A gold anklet glittered around her slender ankle.
Talk about a stroke of good luck. He could hardly believe that a routine walk in the park had brought him face-to-face with such a fine woman. But he had an inexplicable feeling that he and Nia were meant to meet; intuition told him that it was destiny.
His rational mind, however, told him that he was only infatuated.
Still, he decided to push his luck one step further. "Cool, so are you free for lunch this afternoon?"
A dimpled smile curved across her face.
"One o'clock," she said.
As was his habit on Saturday mornings, Franklin Bennett rode his Schwinn bicycle downtown. He enjoyed the exercise, and, even better, catching the latest gossip.
Franklin loved Dark Corner on summer mornings. On such mornings, the town moved at a slower pace than usual (which was really slow), folks sitting on their porches, sipping coffee and reading the Chester County Ledger. Others were busy with yard work. Children played in the streets. Many people, children and adults alike, waved at Franklin as he zipped past. He returned the greetings. Riding his bicycle made him feel like a youth again, cruising throughout town.
When he reached Main Street, he pedaled to Shirley's Diner.
"Morning, folks," Franklin said. A scattered chorus of "Morning, Doc," greeted him. Shirley's was a simple place: a ceramic counter wound along one side of the restaurant, with about ten stools in front of it. Throughout the middle, a row of tables stood; along the opposite wall, there were vinyl booths.
The delicious aroma of eggs, hash browns, sizzling meat, and coffee wafted through the air.
Every customer there was a regular, mostly men, who breakfasted there so often the waitresses didn't need to ask what they were ordering, because they always requested the same meal. One of the waitresses on duty, a busty woman named Gloria, brushed past Franklin balancing three plates in her hands. "Scrambleds and ham coming right up, sugar," she said to him, and winked.
Franklin looked for a seat. Typically, he liked to eat with a different person each time he visited. Everyone had a unique, fascinating story to tell, and all of it was a piece of town history, in one way or another. He had become an expert on the history of Mason's Corner, not from reading books, but from talking to a vast array of people.
He spotted Va
n Jackson, the police chief, in a corner booth, sipping coffee and reading the paper.
"Mind if I sit with you a spell, Chief?" Franklin said.
"Sure, Doc. Have a seat"
Van Jackson had been the police chief for eleven years. Before him, his father had been the chief. Balding and in his forties, Jackson had a long face that always seemed to be stretched into a sad expression, as if he had recently received bad news. Some of the folks called him "Sad" Jackson. He was a somber man, but he had a sharp mind. Franklin enjoyed talking to him.
Gloria slapped down a glass of orange juice in front of Franklin, then refreshed Jackson's coffee. Jackson folded his paper.
"How are things?" Franklin said.
Jackson added cream to his coffee. "Things are things, Doc. Ain't nothing much happening here. The usual mess."
"I have a new neighbor," Franklin said. "David Hunter. He moved into his father's house"
"Is that so?" Jackson raised his eyebrows. "Knew Hunter had a boy, but I ain't never seen him. Moved into his family's place, did he?"
"He arrived yesterday. He's a nice young man, friendly."
"Wife, kids?"
"He's a bachelor."
"Oh, Lord. Ruby's gonna hound him to death. She's a sweetheart"
Van Jackson's wife had died of cancer two years ago, leaving him to raise his teenage son by himself. Ruby, convinced that a single man was a dead loss in the kitchen, had constantly nagged Jackson about joining them for dinner. Jackson had accepted her offer a handful of times, but he didn't need Ruby to cook for him anymore. Word was that the chief was dating Belinda Moss, the town librarian.
"I'll stop by to say hello to the Hunter boy," Jackson said. "He's the kid of the only celebrity this town's ever had. Reckon that merits a welcoming party from the chief."
"That would be good of you," Franklin said. A minute later, Gloria appeared and placed a plate heaped with scrambled eggs, country ham, hash browns, and buttermilk biscuits in front of Franklin. Franklin began to butter a biscuit.
"The Hunter boy ain't the only new resident we have," Jackson said. He sipped his coffee. "Someone's moved into the Mason place."
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